


Lips Red As Blood

by Algernon84



Category: Gargoyles (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-24 16:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12016638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Algernon84/pseuds/Algernon84
Summary: It's been almost a year since the Manhattan Clan's existence was revealed to the world. Since then they've had to deal with everything from humanity's fear to secret societies to magic talking rocks. Now there's a killer on the loose in New York, a killer that prowls the night skies and leaves bloodless corpses in its wake.





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: "Gargoyles" and all characters within are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation unless noted otherwise.
> 
> Special thanks to Masterdramon, Gryphinwyrm7 and BookwyrmPendragon13 for serving as beta readers and providing feedback and inspiration.

"Would that I had a child as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as the wood of the window-frame."

~ _Household Tales_  by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm

**Manhattan,** **September 20th, 1997 A.D.**

She looked over her shoulder for the third time in as many minutes. Even this late at night, a few pedestrians moved mechanically along the sidewalk, eyes fixed firmly on the pavement, walking just fast enough not to seem too obvious about it. It wasn't the kind of neighborhood where it paid to draw too much attention to yourself.

Just two more blocks.

Coming to New York had been a mistake. 'LaVonne', as she'd called herself for years, realized this now. She'd been so stupid, so naive, dreams of stardom and success dazzling her common sense.

Sure, she'd had a few promising gigs here and there, the odd pet food commercial. By some miracle, she'd even managed to snag an audition for the lead in some kid's TV show. She thought the whole thing looked kinda stupid frankly; some sorta cheesy cross between  _American Gladiators_  and the  _A-Team_. But it had turned out to be a gravy train once it hit the airwaves. So of course, she'd been beaten out by some slut whose boyfriend owned the fucking studio.

It had been after the rent money dried up that she first met Price. She'd felt like Snow White watching her Prince riding over the horizon. It was a while before she realized what she thought of at the time as roguish charm was just a well-practiced routine. He said he had 'connections', said he could make her a star. In the end, all he did was rent her out to whatever sleezeball could afford it.

That was all over now; she hugged the battered old duffel bag like it was a life preserver and she was in the middle of the Atlantic, over ten grand of Price's, no...  _her_  money. She was the one who worked for it. Thank God the paranoid bastard didn't believe in banks. Something about them all being pawns of the 'New World Order' or some crap. Not that finding where he stashed it all had been easy.

Whatever, he'd spent pretty much every night over the last week partying it up at that new club. And spent most of the following days in a drunken stupor. With any luck, she'd be half way across the country before he even noticed.

One more block.

Ten grand wouldn't get anyone that far in Manhattan, but it'd sure get her far the Hell  _away_  from it. She didn't even particularly care where  _to_. She'd thought about going home to her drunk hag of a step-mother, for about five seconds before saying 'fuck no!' to that idea.

In the end, she'd settled on heading for LA. She could give the acting thing another shot. If she had to resort to the world's oldest profession again, at least she'd be working for herself this time, choosing her own clients and keeping her own fucking money.

The bus stop looked deserted, save for one bum who was passed out on the bench. Storm clouds rumbled threateningly overhead. She checked her watch, twelve minutes until the bus arrived. Twelve minutes and she'd be free forever. She looked around nervously, paced a bit and checked her watch again.

Twelve minutes.

Her hands shook slightly as she started to rustle through her bag for a pack of Marlboros. She'd managed to fish one out and was already cupping the lighter in her hands when thunder rumbled across the sky and the heavens opened in a downpour of almost Biblical proportions, instantly soaking her, cigarette and all.

"Oh fu-" she never had a chance to complete that thought as a hand clamped over her mouth and a large thick arm pinned hers to her side, dragging her into a nearby alley.

"You dumb bitch!" Price snarled as he slammed her against the alley wall, whiskey on his breath and rage in his eyes. "I always knew you were stupid, but I never thought you were  _fucking suicidal!"_

"Price, please... I," She trembled, she'd seen Price mad before and it never ended well, but she'd never seen him  _this_  bad.

"Where's my money, bitch?!" Price practically shrieked.

"In the bag," She whimpered. "Look, I'm sorry, Price. It was stupid, I'll never do it again, I swear to God! I-I'll make it up to you, baby,  _please!_ "

"Oh, we are  _way_  past kiss and make up," Price whispered, drawing a switchblade that shimmered in the dim lightof the alley as he pressed it against LaVonne's throat. "You're gonna  _bleed_  for this, bitch."

She clenched her eyes shut and bit her lip. If she was going to die, then dammed if she was going to give him the satisfaction of hearing her beg or scream.

In an instant, the alley was filled with a bestial cry of fury mixed with what sounded like Price screaming in abject terror. She felt him being forcibly dragged away from her, and heard his body hit the opposite alley wall with a sickening thud. For several seconds, all she could do was stand there; eyes shut tight. Then, after what seemed like hours had passed, she slowly opened them.

The creature stood in the alley with its back to her, great leather wings flared like some guardian demon as Price staggered to his feet and ran, screaming and blubbering. All she could do was stare.

It was one of Them.

She'd seen Them on the news, always seemingly soaring across the night sky to or from some disaster. Everyone in the city seemed to have some crazy theory about Them. They were everything from scouts for an alien invasion to government genetic experiments to fallen angels escaped from Hell. She even knew a girl who claimed she'd been rescued by Them. But to LaVonne, They had never seemed quite  _real_ , until now.

"Hello," She stepped forward gingerly. "I... I don't know if you understand what I'm saying but... thanks for-"

The thing turned to face LaVonne, blazing red eyes and bone white fangs gleaming in the dark. Then she screamed.

*

**October 24th**

"So then the guy turns 'round to face Goliath, wearing the gaudiest purple and green costume I've ever seen, great big yellow bug eyes on his helmet, and introduces himself as  _'The Beetle!'_ " Detective Elisa Maza of the NYPD glanced at her partner, Matt Bluestone, as they waited in traffic. She had expected at least a chuckle, but he just stared pensively out the passenger window.

"Fashion sense aside," Elisa cleared her throat. "Guy does have some serious tech, winged flight suit, some kinda gas gun. Lex thinks he might be getting it from Nightstone, which would make sense, he's mostly been hitting SCARAB Corp and a buncha Xanato's other interests."

Elisa glanced again, still no reaction. "Hello! Earth to Matt! You've barely said three words since we got in the car?"

Matt's shoulders sagged as he let out a sigh. "I've been thinking."

Elisa arched an eyebrow. "About?"

"Maybe," Matt tensed as if he was about to reset one of his own bones. "Maybe you shouldn't tell me this stuff anymore?"

"Excuse me?" Elisa was dumbfounded. "What happened to 'partners should always trust each other'?"

"It's not about trust, Elisa, it's just…" Matt turned away again.

"It's just what?" Elisa asked icily.

"It's just," Matt began. "The less I know, the less I'll have to lie later."

"What's  _that_  supposed to mean?" Of course, Elisa knew exactly what that meant.

The past year as head of the NYPD's Gargoyle Task Force hadn't been easy on Matt, and it wasn't just the workload or the stress. Matt was one of the most scrupulously honest people she'd ever met. It was one thing for him to keep knowledge of Manhattan's own defenders of the night to himself when he was just another overworked and underpaid police detective. It was quite another to lie to his superiors on colleagues nightly by using his position to run interference for the clan.

"Look, I'm sorry," Elisa offered, "That came out harsher than it should have."

"Nah, it's okay," Matt pinched the bridge of his nose, "Maybe we should talk about this later?"

"Yeah… sure," Elisa's fingers started to tap the wheel as awkward silence filled the car. "So… Any idea why Detective Stacy wants to see us? It's been a while since we got called in for a regular old homicide."

"No idea," Matt shrugged, "Doubt it's anything good though".

*

Matt was right, it was bad. The victim couldn't have been any older than her early twenties, if that. Her limbs were bent in ways human limbs should never be. A vivid red gash was gouged across her pale throat. The analytical part of Elisa's brain thought it odd there was so little blood spatter on the skyscraper's rooftop. The rest of her was just trying not to throw up.

"Janitor found 'Jane Doe' this morning," Stacy, a well-built if somewhat graying man, began. "He swears the rooftop's been locked since last night but we're tracking down anyone who might have had access to a key just the same."

"Looks like she was dropped from a height," Elisa commented. "We have a time of death?"

"I reckon sometime between 'leven and two last night, Detective." a female voice, with a thick Texan accent piped up.

Elisa looked down at the pathologist who was still examining the body. She was dressed plainly save for an amber charm around her neck, with brown hair cut short in a tomboyish style and deep hazel eyes Elisa would almost describe as "soulful".

"Doctor Will Hutter," She introduced herself. "Pardon if I don't shake your hand, detective, but…" She held up two blood-stained latex gloved hands by way of explanation.

`"Elisa Maza, Gargoyle Task Force, and no problem." Elisa kneeled to meet her at eye level. "So what have we got here exactly, doc?"

"The victim has several broken bones," Dr. Hutter exposited. "The fall'd do that sure 'nuff, but judging by the lack of bruising, I'm reckoning they were sustained post mortem. The more likely culprit is this here wound on the throat. Looks like the poor miss was mauled by some kinda wild animal, and judging by pallor, died o' blood loss."

"Hold up," Matt raised his hand. "Are you saying something mauled this girl and then dropped her corpse on the roof of a skyscraper?"

Elisa tensed, she didn't like where this was headed.

"You see why we called you in?" Stacy piped up.

"You think a gargoyle did this?" Elisa struggled to keep her tone as neutral as possible.

`"Frankly, Detective," Stacy sighed in exasperation. "I was hoping you could tell me."

Dr. Hutter offered no opinion on this point, drawing back the victim's ruby red lips to shine a penlight into her mouth. "If it's alright with you, detectives, I'd like to hold on to this one o'er the weekend at the city morgue?"

"Any particular reason?" Stacy asked.

"Just a hunch," She shrugged. "Might be nothin'. I don't wanna play my hand just yet. Not 'til I've seen all my cards, anyhow."

"Well," Stacy slumped. "She has no ID, and it'll take us a week at least to run her prints and check with Missing Persons. If nobody steps forward to claim her before then…"

"Much obliged," Dr. Hutter made a gesture which, to Elisa at least, looked she was tipping an invisible cowboy hat.

*

**Eyrie Building**

Elisa arrived on the battlements of Castle Wyvern about quarter of an hour before sunset. She was momentarily taken aback by the image of a golden winged gargoyle shimmering in the dying sunlight by Goliath's stone form.

"Hey, Coldfire," Elisa saluted.

"Sister," The robotic gargoyle turned to meet her. "It is good to see you again!"

Elisa smirked, "Really, Coldfire, you don't have to call me that."

"Nonsense," Coldfire extended a hand to clasp Elisa's forearm, "We are clan."

Elisa returned the gesture, "Coldstone around?"

"He is engaging in a final sweep of the castle's perimeter before the rest of our clan awakens." Coldfire gestured upwards, towards the distant figure of a cybernetic gargoyle circling far above them. "Honestly, I suspect he simply wanted something to do. I was going watch the sunset from here, care to join me?"

"Sure," Elisa smiled. They sat in silence as they watched the amber orb slowly edge below the horizon. With almost anyone else the silence would have been awkward, but Coldfire had a way of putting people at ease. Not an easy trick when you're a packing built in flame throwers, Elisa thought. Before she and her mate had re-joined the clan, Elisa had only known Coldfire by reputation. It was nice spending the last several months getting to properly know her would-be "Sister in Law".

Elisa's thoughts were broken by the sound of faint cracks forming across the stone visage, traveling across the gargoyle's entire form, climaxing in an earth-shattering roar as flecks of stone skin were sent flying in all directions. The Leader of the Manhattan clan flared his great leather wings as his own roar was answered by a similar chorus from the battlements below.

"Never gets old," Elisa smirked

"Elisa!" Goliath whisked his mate into a passionate embrace, boldly defiant of their precarious perch atop the world tallest skyscraper. Coldfire simply smiled indulgently.

"Elisa?" It only took Goliath a moment to notice the haunted look in her eyes. "What is wrong?"

"Goliath," Elisa sighed. "You should get everyone together. We need to talk."

*

"And you have no idea who is responsible for this…" Goliath's fists tensed as he fought to keep his voice level, "atrocity?"

"Not a clue," Elisa sighed. "Though Homicide is at least considering the possibility of gargoyle involvement."

"I hate to admit it," Brooklyn narrowed his lone eye. "But they may have a point. We're not the only gargoyles in Manhattan, and let's be honest; some of them aren't exactly model members of the species."

"Is it…" Angela steadied herself. "Is it possible Demona did this?"

Coldfire gently placed an arm around her rookery daughter.

"I doot it," Hudson stroked his beard thoughtfully. "It's not like Demona to single out any one human like this". He did not bother to add 'except Elisa', it went without saying. It was true Hudson had few illusions regarding his wayward rookery daughter. He'd always known what she was capable of, perhaps even better than Goliath himself.

"Aren't we forgetting something?" Lexington piped up. "We're not the only ones in Manhattan who can get airborne either."

"Lex is right," Broadway agreed, placing a hand on Angela's shoulder. "For all we know, this could just be some lunatic with a helicopter, or that Beetle guy!"

"That'd be some trick," Gnash piped up. "Seeing how we spent most of last night chasing him up and down the city last night, and what about Thailog? He's definitely a twisted enough basta-"

"Nashville…  _gengo_ ," Katana spoke softly as she sharpened her sword, barely above a whisper. As far Gnash was concerned, that was all she ever needed.

" _Gomenasai, Sensei,_ " Gnash bowed sheepishly.

"Enough!" Goliath voice cut off all further debate. "Speculation will not bring this killer to justice. We will double our patrols, search every inch of the city if we must, until they are found!" He turned to the two cybernetic gargoyles who had remained quiet until now. "Brother, sister, I want you two to resume daytime patrols of the island."

Coldstone looked to his mate then back to his leader. "Brother, is that wise? The castle-"

"Is merely where we sleep," Goliath placed a hand on his rookery brother's shoulder, "Manhattan is our protectorate, and I will not allow this… butcher to roam it unchallenged. I want everyone assembled on the battlements and ready to depart within the hour!"

As the rest of the clan filed out of the great hall, Elisa took the opportunity to grab Goliath by the arm and gently pull him aside.

"Is something wrong, Elisa?" He raised an eyebrow ridge.

"That's what I was going to ask." she began. "I can't help but think you're taking this awfully personally."

"As I said to Coldstone, this island and its people are our castle," He looked away, seeming almost ashamed. "This woman is dead because  _we_  were not there to save her."

"This isn't your fault, Goliath," She placed a hand on his cheek, bringing around his eyes to meet hers. "There are over a million people living in Manhattan alone, and you're not God. Even Superman can't be everywhere at once."

"I know," He let out a deep, rumbling sigh as he placed his hand on hers. "But that does not make it any easier."

*

**23rd Precinct**

"This is absolutely outrageous!" Margot Yale pounded on the table for emphasis. "These animals are on a killing spree and you plan to just sit back and do nothing?"

Matt Bluestone looked around the room for some support,  _any_  support really. Like almost every other time the Assistant District Attorney had been on the warpath, the rest of the NYDP's Gargoyle Task, including Elisa, had suddenly become inordinately fascinated with the coffee mug stains on the meeting table. So of course, it once more fell to Matt to try and appease her wrath. Such was the burden of leadership.

"With all due respect, Ms. Yale," which in Matt's private opinion wasn't a whole lot. "We have no evidence of any gargoyle involvement in this death. It's just one among many theories being explored."

"Really?" Margot scoffed, "Tell me, Detective Bluestone, what other 'theories' do you currently have? Alien abduction?"

That hit a little close to home.

"You'd have to ask Detective Stacy." Matt said in his most diplomatic tones. "Until we see evidence to the contrary, this is Homicide's case. The Gargoyle Task Force will be operating in a purely advisory capacity at  _their_  discretion. To that end, I'm appointing Detective Maza as our liaison to Stacy's team."

Elisa shot him a look but Matt just shrugged. Burdens of leadership.

"And our 'Federal response' is okay with this?" Margot turned to a bespectacled man, slouching in his seat and sucking a toffee, seemingly oblivious to the latent hostility in the air.

"Well, ma'am," Agent Martin Hacker swallowed his toffee. "The way I see it, I'm just here in something of an 'advisory capacity' myself. I certainly wouldn't want to go around stepping on New York's finest toes or telling y'all how to do your jobs. Unless I have to." Hacker offered her a stupidly inoffensive smile.

Matt had to hand it to Hacker, he played the lazily indifferent bureaucrat well. He'd also gotten his point across. Deal with this, Matthew, or  _we_  will.

"It goes without saying," Matt concluded, "Until we know more and the Department is ready to make an official statement,  _nothing_  leaves this room. The last thing any of us want is  _The Daily Tattler_  getting their grubby little claws into this."

*

**Quarrymen HQ**

John Castaway was at his desk. It was already just on the brink of midnight but it looked like he'd be here well into the early hours of the morning. Just a few short days remained to the one year anniversary of the Quarrymen's "official" founding. One year since humanity at large learned what "John Castaway" had known all his life, that there were things that go bump in the night, one year since…

He shook his head; attempting to banish the demons, both figurative and literal, that haunted him by diving back into his work.

He'd planned to commemorate this milestone with a massive rally in Central Park that would hopefully signal a whole new wave of recruitment and expansion for the group. A group which, John Castaway fervently believed, represented humanity's one real line of defense against the things that stalked the night.

Of course, such an undertaking meant a thousand different minor things constantly demanded his attention in the lead up to the event. Right now, he was working on his introductory speech. He supposed he could save time by hiring a professional script-writer, but he liked doing this sort of thing himself.

He looked up to admire the poster gracing his wall, depicting the white silhouettes of three lost children as a bat-winged shadow loomed overhead. Under the image, a caption in blood red font drove home the message.

IT'S AFTER DARK! DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR CHILDREN ARE?

Ever since he was a child, he'd always been fascinated by the media, the power of words and images to reshape hearts and minds on a mass scale. His relations had never understood. At best, they saw it as a hobby; at worst, a distraction from the "Family Business". Only his aunt had ever supported him in it. It gratified him to think the skills they'd derided had become his greatest weapons in humanity's war against the demons.

He was snapped out of his reverie by a knock on the door. "Come in."

"Sorry for bothering you, Mr. Castaway," a middle-aged woman with glasses and short blond hair poked her head through the door.

"Nonsense, Sarah," he beamed cheerily at his secretary. "What can I do for you?"

"There's a… gentleman, here to see you." she replied. It was clear from the tone in her voice that "gentleman" was the most diplomatic term she could find in her personal lexicon.

"I see," nodded Castaway. "Well, send him in."

"Gentleman" was in Castaway's estimation, perhaps too generous a term for the individual who shuffled in. He wore what had probably once been a fine Italian suit though clearly hadn't been properly cared for in a while. His hair was disheveled and greasy, his eyes haggard. Even from across the room, he could catch the faint scent of alcohol.

"John Castaway," Castaway forced his best smile and extended a hand. "At your service, Mr…?"

The man took Castaway's hand in a weak grip and mumbled in response.

"Friends call me 'Price'."

*

**The Labyrinth,** **October 25th**

"That does sound nasty, sis," Talon's fur stood on end as he and his sister walked through a deserted section of the underground complex that provided sanctuary to all the city's many outcasts.

"Derek," Elisa tensed, "I really hate to ask this but…"

"It's okay, sis," her brother smiled, flashing feline fangs. "I used to be a cop too, remember? Maggie and Claw were down here every night for the past week, same goes for Delilah and company. They're sleeping now but if you want to ask them yourself, sunset's only an hour or two away."

"That's okay, I'll take your word for it," Elisa knew it wasn't rational or fair but even after all this time the sight of her "half-gargoyle" clone still made her bristle. "Don't suppose you've heard from Fang lately?"

"Not since Sevarius busted him out last year," Talon snarled. Fang had been the Labyrinth's resident Judas. As far as either Elisa or Derek had ever gathered, he'd been nothing but a petty grifter before Anton Sevarius got his syringes in him. Despite being a 'man-bat-mountain lion-electric eel', he'd remained a petty grifter at heart. Could Fang kill if pushed to it?

Probably.

If there was one thing Elisa's years on the force had thought her, it was that most people were capable of almost anything if they were scared or angry or desperate enough. But this was different, this felt calculated, malicious. Whoever had killed that girl, Elisa was willing to bet one thing…

They'd done it before. They'd done it before a lot.

Elisa suddenly looked over her shoulder, almost without conscious thought. The corridor behind her and Talon was stark empty.

"Everything okay?" Talon asked.

"I thought," Elisa shrugged, "Nothing, just nerves, I guess. Anyway, I better be heading back topside."

"Oh no," Derek grinned. "I know for a fact you're not back on duty for hours yet, and you are  _not_  getting out of dinner with me, Maggie and your godchild that easy, sis."

It was easy to lose track of time underground, and Elisa enjoyed catching up with Derek and family, so it was over two hours past dark before she made it back to her car. Unfortunately, that was about as far as she got.

*

"Come on, come on!" Elisa turned the key in the ignition again only to be repaid with a sickly sputtering of the engine. It was just as she resigned herself to finding a payphone and calling for a tow that a thunder crack echoed across the sky and the rain began to pour.

"Terrific," Elisa stepped out of her car and pulled up her collar to shelter herself as best she could. She hadn't gone twelve feet when a jet-black limousine pulled up next to her.

"Detective Maza," a feminine voice called out through a rolled down window. "Can I interest you in a lift?" The girl in the limo was dressed smartly in black and spoke with a slight Middle-eastern accent. She seemed vaguely familiar but Elisa couldn't place her.

"Sorry," Elisa's eyes narrowed. "I don't take rides from strangers," As she turned away, Elisa noticed a couple of heavies in trench coats stepping out of an alley and patting their breast pockets meaningfully.

The girl in the limo smirked. "I insist."

*

The girl sat on the opposite end of the limo's back compartment watching Elisa for several minutes, as silent and serene as a cat.

"So," Elisa folded her arms. "Care to tell me what all this is about?"

"Gladly, Detective Maza," Elisa was momentarily startled by what, for only a split second, sounded like Goliath's rich dark voice coming from an inbuilt speaker. "Or can I just call you 'Elisa'? After all, we're practically family at this point."

Elisa's eyes narrowed. "Thailog."

"I apologize for not being there in person, but I find automobiles so… cramped." Thailog's disembodied voice chuckled darkly.

"Whatever your planning, when Goliath and the others notice I'm missing-"

"Please, Elisa," Thailog's voice cut her off. "If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it long before now."

"Then what do you want?" Elisa spat.

"To clear my good name," Thailog's voice responded in mock indignation. "After what happened to that poor human girl, I imagine I'm near the top of a very short list of suspects?"

Elisa's eyes widened. "How do you know about that?"

"'Ms. Zade' keeps me well informed about a great many things."

The cat-like girl said nothing, but simply smirked as though enjoying a private joke.

"Alright," Elisa deicided to humor them for now. "Can you account for your whereabouts two nights ago?"

"At Nightstone HQ, working on a few 'special projects' with Brentwood. The lad is quite the prodigy. Ms. Zade can vouch for the both of us."

" _Of course_  she can," Elisa glared at the girl. "What about Demona, don't suppose you two have been in touch lately?"

"According to my sources, Demona's been overseas since her last… 'episode', probably searching for some ancient magical doomsday something or other."

Elisa had no reason to trust a word Thailog said. For all she knew, he and Demona had kissed, made up and decided to murder some random human to celebrate. No, that didn't make sense either. Thailog was ruthless and sadistic but never random. What was Thailog even trying to achieve with this stunt? It wasn't like she could put any of this 'interview' in her official report anyway.

"One more thing," she might as well try to salvage something useful out of this.

"Yes?" Thailog sounded curious.

"What do you know about 'the Beetle'?"

Thailog's voice chuckled darkly through the speakers. "I believe this is your stop, my dear."

The limo slowed to a stop as 'Ms. Zade' handed Elisa a business card. Elisa tossed it as the doors unlocked, unwilling to spend another second in the vehicle, weather be damned.

"Oh, Elisa," Thailog's voice rang out. "I promise to do everything within my power to help bring your investigation to a close."

"Don't do me any favors," Elisa slammed the door of the limo. She was at least a block from the 23rd and it was still pouring rain. If she had just looked up, she might have noticed when, for a split-second, a bolt of lightning illuminated a winged shadow soaring through the sky.

*

**October 26th**

Coldfire soared over the Manhattan skyline alongside her mate. Their in-built thrusters carried them higher and faster than any natural gargoyle wings could. The coming sunset made every glass skyscraper seem like a tower of molten gold. "Beautiful, is it not, my love?"

"I suppose," her mate shrugged.

"Something troubles you?"

"We should be back at the castle," he grumbled. "Guarding our clan as they sleep! If Xanatos and Fox-"

"Had intentions to molest our clan, they would have done it long before now," She interjected.

"You trust  _them_?" he snarled.

"I trust their sense of enlightened self-interest," she responded. "We're far too 'useful' to them as willing if begrudging pawns. Goliath agrees, it was he who suggested these 'daytime patrols' after all."

Her mate didn't respond.

"My love," she angled her flight so that her optics directly met his. "Ever since re-joining our clan, we have barely left the castle. Is it solely their safety that concerns you… or are you simply seeking an excuse to brood?"

"What would you have me do?" he asked simply

"I would have you live," she responded.

"Live?!" he brandished a mechanical talon. "Like  _this!_ "

"My love," she reached out in mid-flight, taking the cold metal hand in her own. "I believe there is Pattern and Plan in All Things. I do not know why we have been granted this second existence, but I cannot believe it was simply to spend eternity wallowing in self-pity."

"Perhaps you are right," he let out an exasperated sigh. "I am sorry for…"

"My love?"

"Do you see that?" he pointed to a roof top far below them.

Coldfire optics zoomed in. She saw an open skylight, unguarded and unlatched. "I recognize that building. It is the city morgue, a place where humans store their dead in preparation for burial."

A low synthesized growl rumbled from her mate's throat. "I can think of no wholesome reason anyone would clandestinely seek access to such a place."

"I agree," she responded icily. Desecration of the dead was something they both took very personally.

*

Elisa had set out immediately after receiving Coldfire's radio, only taking the time to leave a message at the castle and arriving at the morgue a few minutes after sunset. Forcing the door open had been easy enough, though she had expected alarms to start blaring the minute she busted in. The tomb like silence that greeted her instead was not a good omen.

"Coldfire," she whispered into the mic hidden in her jacket collar. "Coldstone, either of you guys there?"

Nothing.

Gun and flashlight drawn, she cautiously made her way towards the security office. The door was already open. In the dim light of a bank of monitors showing only static, she could make out the form of the security guard slumped in his chair, back to her and eerily still.

"Hey," she whispered. "Buddy, can you hear me?" No response. Elisa edged closer, and gently swung the chair around. The guard drooled.

A quick pulse check confirmed he was indeed still alive. Elisa shook him but again got no reaction. He'd evidently been drugged. An examination of the chair showed he'd been tightly bound by his wrists and ankles. Elisa undid the ropes and briefly considered moving him but decided against it. Whoever did this could have easily killed the guard but instead had been content merely to sedate and bind him, so he was probably safe enough for now.

She noticed a small silver crucifix glinting around his neck. "Guess Somebody up there's looking out for you, pal."

As Elisa stepped back, she noticed something odd, a long thin circle of white powder around the guard's chair. Her first thought was cocaine, as bizarre as the idea of four-foot circle of cocaine on the floor of a morgue seemed. She bent down to touch it.

Someone grabbed Elisa from behind.

Fortunately, Elisa had enough presence of mind to use her attacker's own momentum against them, throwing them over her shoulder. Despite Elisa managing to take her attacker by surprise, they landed on the ground with almost feline grace.

It was a woman clad head to toe in black, dark hood obscuring her face. A large, wickedly curved knife hung mercifully sheathed at her belt, along with several other pouches and tools Elisa could scarcely identify.

Elisa only had a split second to take all this in before diving for her gun, which had fallen in the commotion. The Woman in Black's gloved hand shot out like a cobra, grasping Elisa's wrist like a vice and twisting her arm behind her before slamming the detective into a wall.

"Why are you here?" The Woman in Black spoke in what Elisa recognized as a crisp English accent.

"You tell me," Elisa shot back. "You're the one breaking into a morgue."

"I came to cut out an infection before it had a chance to take root," the Woman in Black replied. "Your… friends prevented me."

"My friend's?" Elisa tried to keep the concerned panic out of her voice. Did this woman do something to Coldfire and Coldstone?

"It's too late for them," the Woman in Black spoke simply, relaxing her grip.

Elisa immediately snatched up her gun, training it on her attacker. "What the Hell does that mean?!"

The Woman in Black seemed unconcerned by the loaded weapon.

"You should go home, Elisa Maza," she spoke softly. "Forget the dead girl. If you challenge  _him_ … he will take away everything you care about."

"Who the-" Elisa was cut off by a shrieking howl coming from the direction of the main storage room. It didn't sound human, or even gargoyle, more like some dammed soul crying out in rage and lust. Elisa only looked away for a split second at most but by the time her eyes darted back, the Woman in Black was gone.

"Perfect," Elisa ran in the direction of the howl, busting into the main cold storage room and sweeping it with her weapon. The door of one of the cabinets used for storing dead bodies had been violently torn off its hinges. The chamber within lay empty.

But what most shocked Elisa was the sight of Coldfire and Coldstone's limp forms lying prone on the floor. Coldfire's golden chassis was scratched and torn in several places, and Coldstone's robotic arm had been torn clean off.

"Coldfire!" Elisa rushed to the robotic gargoyles side. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"AttacBZZZKTked," Coldfire sputtered. "CouldZZZTn't see-see-see!"

"Just hold on," Elisa placed a hand on Coldfire's metallic talon. "Goliath will be here with Lex and the gang any-" something dripped on Elisa's shoulder. Wiping it away with disgust, she was surprised to find that it looked and felt very much like… "Saliva?"

Elisa looked up.

The naked thing cling to the ceiling like a giant spider, gaunt pale limbs ended in grotesque talons. But the most horrific thing was its face.

Its bone white face was undeniably that of the dead girl Elisa had seen only three days ago. Its once blank dead eyes gleamed through strands of raven black hair with hellish lust. The corpse smiled, blood red lips peeling back to reveal needle like fangs.

Then it pounced.

_**To be Continued…** _


	2. Act II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost a year since the Manhattan Clan's existence was revealed to the world. Since then they've had to deal with everything from humanity's fear to secret societies to magic talking rocks. Now there's a killer on the loose in New York, a killer that prowls the night skies and leaves bloodless corpses in its wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Gargoyles and all characters within are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation unless noted otherwise.
> 
> Special thanks to Masterdramon, Gryphinwyrm7 and BookwyrmPendragon13 for serving as beta readers and providing feedback and inspiration.

**Manhattan,** **October 26th, 1997 A.D.**

The thing that had been a corpse just three days ago pounced on Elisa. She heard her gun going off, though if any bullets hit the thing it didn't seem to notice. She struggled as it forced her to the ground, wrenching back her head with bony talons to expose her neck, its fangs hovering just above her jugular.

That's when a bone shaking roar filled the room and great lavender talons wrapped around the thing's pale neck, hurling it across the room with savage force. Goliath stood between Elisa and the thing, his great leather wings flared like a shield, his eyes blazing white hot.

Elisa saw the thing crouched in a corner, snarling and hissing like a snake at the gargoyle, torn between fear and hunger. The thing backed towards a narrow crack in the old concrete wall, barely wide enough to fit a razor blade. Then its form seemed to contort and flatten, slipping through the crack as though it was no thicker than paper. In a moment, it was gone as though it never even existed.

"Elisa," Goliath bent down and checked her neck. "You are unharmed?"

"Yeah…" she panted, "I… I'm good."

Goliath helped her to her feet before checking on his fallen rookery siblings. "Coldstone and Coldfire are damaged. We should send for Lexington."

"Goliath!" Elisa's mind raced. "That woman was dead. I saw it!"

"I know," he intoned pensively.

"That was a-" No, dammed if she was going to say the word out loud.

"A revenant," Goliath said. "Hudson has spoken of such things. If anything of its human mind survived death, it will be utterly subsumed by the Red Thirst, driven only by instinct, incapable of reason until…"

"Until?" Elisa asked, sure she already knew the answer.

"Until it feeds," he spoke quietly.

Elisa shuddered, "We have to stop it, before it gets loose in the city!"

"No! I cannot leave my brother and siste-" a golden robotic hand touched Goliath's, cutting him off.

"Brother," Coldfire began. "The damage to our corporeal forms is not as severe as it appears. Already our self-repair matrices have curtailed the worst of our injuries. The creature's next victim may not be so fortunate."

"Sister?" Goliath hesitated.

"As you said, this island is our protectorate," she turned her optics to look directly at him. "go"

*

"Copy that, Goliath. We're en route. Brooklyn out," the one-eyed gargoyle turned to the rest of the clan who all glided by his side. "We got gargoyles down. Coldstone and Coldfire took a bad hit down at the city morgue. If Lex can't get them airborne, we'll have to carry them back to the castle."

"Depends how bad it is," Lex respond, a bag of various tools and parts slung over his back. "I don't want to make any promises until I see- Whoooaah-". Lex banked as the wind kicked up, blowing a bank of mist over the rooftops.

"Got ye, lad." Hudson managed to grab the younger gargoyle before he went spinning out of control. The clan elder sniffed the air. "We best land as soon as we can. There be something… unnatural 'boot this wind."

"Now you're just being paranoid," Brooklyn tried to quip but Hudson was right. The wind was picking up far too quickly, almost as if it was intentionally delaying them. It sounded crazy but after 40 years of bouncing up and down the time-stream, Brooklyn had come to think of "crazy" as the universe's default position.

*

EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN IMMINENT…

Coldfire lay upon the floor of the morgue as her internal systems began shutting down one by one. She prayed her rookery brother would forgive her for downplaying the severity of her injuries. In truth, she wasn't certain how much damage her mechanical form could take before it was no longer able to anchor her spirit to the physical plane.

Her tactile sensors registered a slight pressure on her servos. When she turned her head, she saw her mate's hand stretched out and clasped upon her own. "My love?"

"F-f-forgive me," his damaged vocalizer stuttered out.

"What in the world for?" she asked.

"I am a c-c-coward." he rasped. "I am af-f-fraid to return to… Oblivion."

"Shhh, my love," she whispered. "Even if our battle ends this night there will be no more empty limbo for us. This time our clan shall perform the Wind Ceremony, and our spirits shall ride the wind together… and forever."

He turned his gaze to meet hers, the red light of his optic flickering weakly. "Do you t-t-truly believe that?"

"With every fibre of my being," she responded.

"Then that is enough for me," their talons intertwined. Mist filled their vision and then… darkness.

*

"What?!" Goliath roared into the tiny communicator hanging from his neck. Elisa took a step back, suspecting that several blocks away, Lexington was doing the same thing.

"Hey, don't look at me!" The voice of the Manhattan's clan's resident tech savant piped through Goliath and Elisa's earpieces. "We we're only a couple minutes behind you. By the time we got there all we could find was Coldstone's arm."

"Could the…" Elisa still couldn't bring herself to use that word. "Could that thing have doubled back for them?"

"I don't know," the lavender giant sighed. "But I doubt we..." A scream suddenly split the night. Within moments. Goliath had carried Elisa down into a darkened alley where a young man lay bleeding heavily and struggling to breathe.

"Oh my God," Elisa bent down. "Sir, can you hear me?"

Goliath's eyes fell upon the gaping wound at the base of the victim's neck. "The revenant did this, it can't have gone far."

"Never mind that now," Elisa cut him off. "This guy's going to bleed to death if we don't get him an ambulance." She took off her jacket and pressed it tight to the wound. "I'm going to need you to keep pressure on this while I find a payphone."

*

LaVonne licked her lips as strode through the night, clad only in a black trench-coat "liberated" from her first prey, as much a trophy as a means of preserving her modesty. Before the change she'd been terrified she wouldn't be able to go through with it. Now LaVonne wondered how she could have possibly stopped herself.

The Red Thirst had been maddening. It had been like hunger, lust and agony wracking every fiber of her being. Even now she could feel it stirring in the back of her mind, only temporarily sated. She was glad, she'd never have forgiven herself for disappointing her Prince.

She approached the edifice that for the last month of her human life she'd come to think of as home. A year ago it had been nothing more than a crumbling, condemned and deconsecrated cathedral. In that time, He had restored it to its former Gothic opulence but the constantly shifting lights emanating from its murky windows and the throng of pleasure seekers gathered about its doors betrayed a less than spiritual purpose. Above the doors, a crimson neon sign proclaimed everything this place now stood for in a single word.

_Sacrilege_

She strode to the head of the line in serene confidence. A silent bouncer of oddly grayish complexion merely nodded as he pulled back the rope and waved her through without a word, much to the consternation of those still waiting in the cold.

Her new senses were almost overloaded as she stepped onto the nightclub's dance floor. The lighting cast everything in a lurid hellish red and the music thumped like the heartbeat of a gigantic beast. Everywhere seemed filled with the animal heat of countless warm bodies entranced by its beat. LaVonne practically drank in the heady mix of all the scents around her, alcohol, tobacco, sweat and most intoxicating of all… blood.

But that could wait, she strutted towards the main bar, where the cathedral's altar had once stood and a new batch of the faithful gathered to receive the communion of their choice. A female bartender with face like wet clay gave her an almost glazed look of recognition before reaching for a wine bottle.

"I never drink… wine." She purred.

The bartender put away the bottle and passed her a key to the back office.

LaVonne left a tip on the bar before turning towards the office. She hardly needed a key of course but  _He_  had stressed upon her the importance of not flaunting her new gifts where anyone could see. She smirked as her eyes lingered on the nameplate attached to the door.

_D. Vɪʟʟᴇ_

*

**October 27th**

Elisa cautiously checked the morgue rooftop. Except for Matt who was playing lookout below, most of the officers investigating last night's break-in had already cleared out hours ago. Still, it payed to double check. "Okay guys, all clear!"

Goliath, Brooklyn and Hudson swooped out of the darkness landing atop the rooftop with primal grace. "The rest of the clan are searching the city," the lavender giant intoned. "Has there been any word?"

"Afraid not," the Detective sighed. "Whoever nabbed Coldstone and Coldfire didn't leave much of a trace. That Woman in Black must have scrambled the security cameras after she took out the guard."

"Dinne he see anything?" Hudson asked.

"He swears he was watching the monitors all night but didn't see anything, then someone grabbed him from behind and shot him full of something," Elisa folded her arms. "But I'd be willing to bet she got the drop on him while he was catching a few zees. Either way, he never caught sight of our mystery woman or that… thing."

"What about the white powder you found?" Brooklyn interjected.

"That's the weird thing," Elisa fished a print-out from her back pocket. "Lab boys didn't take long to figure it out; fine wheat flour, water, yeast and salt. It's basically just… bread."

Goliath's brow furrowed. "That sounds almost like-"

"Communion Host," a voice spoke from the shadows.

Elisa, Hudson and Brooklyn instantly drew their weapons on the darkness, the gargoyles' eyes blazing like magnesium.

"Where we can see you!" Elisa demanded. "Nice and slow."

The hooded form of the Woman in Black stepped from the shadows.

"You!" Elisa cried. "You better start talking fast and it better be good!"

The Woman in Black pulled back her hood, revealing hazel eyes framed by short cropped hair.

"Dr. Hutter?" Elisa lowered her gun slightly.

"My name is Will Harker," she spoke in a light British accent well at odds the heavy Texan dialect she had adopted when the detective first met her.

"Enough!" Goliath snarled as he stalked towards her. "What have you done with my rookery siblings, woman?!"

"Nothing," Harker responded coolly. She didn't seem particularly intimidated.

"You have already attacked one of our own," Goliath roared. "Why should I believe you!?"

Harker simply pulled a plain white envelope from her cloak in response.

"What is this?" Goliath glared at the envelope.

"A letter of introduction," Harker stated matter-of-factly.

Goliath took the letter gingerly, surprised to find his own name scrawled upon it in a crabbed handwriting. He tore open the letter and read it closely.

_Knight's Spur Estate_

_London_

_My dear yank cousins,_

_I hope this letter finds you all in good health and the common sense to listen to your elders and betters. Your entire protectorate may depend on it._

_Mrs. Harker is a very old friend, both to me personally, and to our clan. I know she can be abrasive, mule-headed, contrary and downright bloody-minded at times, but I'd best advise you to hear her out before you make any decisions._

_Yours in good faith,_

_Pog._

Goliath handed the letter to Hudson, who began to scrutinize it.

"Aye, it's Pog's hand right enough," the clan elder sheathed his blade. "If he vouches for the lass then that's good enough fer me."

"Okay, mystery woman," Elisa slowly lowered her weapon. "Answer me one question. If you didn't take Coldstone and Coldfire, who did?"

*

SYSTEM REBOOT IN 3… 2… 1…

Coldfire's optics flickered to life, revealing to her a dank looking stone ceiling. She tried to recollect herself as the rest of her systems rebooted. Her self-repair matrix must have deactivated all non-essential functions to conserve power. If her internal chronometer could be trusted, she'd been off-line for over 24 hours. A self-diagnostic revealed that several key systems including weapons, flight, long-range communications and GPS would require further repair, but motor control was at least mostly functional.

She turned her head experimentally as her systems finished rebooting. Where ever she was, it most certainly was not Castle Wyvern.

Iron shackles and what were unmistakably instruments of torture, ancient and modern, lined the walls. Her robotic form could not shiver, but Coldfire repressed a not altogether physical tingle of revulsion. For the first time, she felt somewhat grateful that her spirit was encased in a shell of unfeeling metal.

She attempted to move her arms and legs. To her surprise, they moved freely and unimpeded. Her captor, whoever they were, had apparently made no attempt to restrain her. Perhaps they had presumed her damaged beyond repair, or that she was simply a mindless automaton that would take no action without its master's instruction. She considered whether to allow them to continue to think that until she had learned more, or take her chances by attempting to fight her way to freedom blind.

Then the screaming started. She recognized it immediately as her mate's voice, a roar contorted in pain and agony though muffled by the stone walls.

"My love!" she instantly leaped to her feet, all thoughts of subterfuge instantly banished. She began running towards a heavy oak door before being sent hurtling back by a blast of scarlet light. All around her a band of concentric circles inscribed upon the floor glowed bright red, the spaces between them filled with bizarre runes.

She let out a panther-like screech of rage before hurling herself again and again at the invisible barrier. Try as she might, she could not penetrate so much as an inch past her prison. "What sorcery is this?!"

_Necromancy._

The word entered her mind unbidden. She remembered how long ago, when she had been alive, her wayward sister had mentioned it in an unguarded moment; the arts by which a sorcerer may summon and bind the spirits of the restless dead. The same arts her sister had doubtless used to create Coldstone in the first place.

She scanned the room again, her optics shifting back and forth from ultra-violet to infra-red, but could detect no trace of any living thing in this room. Her mate's cries had momentarily abated, allowing her to up the gain on her auditory sensors to their maximum. Despite all this she could detect no trace of a living being anywhere in the room.

She had always been particularly 'sensitive' even as a hatchling. Now that she focused, she could not deny the unmistakable presence that clouded the room like a spiritual miasma. Though her mechanical sense may say otherwise, she was certain of one thing.

"I know you are there," she spoke.

Something that might have been laughter echoed softly in her mind. She let out a synthesized snarl. "Show yourself, coward!"

_I could not even if I wished it. Your clockwork eyes could no more see my form then your clockwork ears could hear my voice_

Something clicked in her mind; the missing body at the morgue, the invisible creature. She had heard the stories from her clan elders, of course, but the shock still unnerved her. It was one thing to believe in demons. It was quite another to have one strike up a conversation with you.

"Because you cast no reflection?"

_What a clever piece of tin you are? Now, how many in your clan?_

"Fourteen." She took a step back, startled at the sound of the word spoken in her own voice. "How did you-"

_Where do you roost?_

"C-castl-" she fell to her knees, racked with agony as she tried to hold back the words. "W-w-wver-er-er-ern."

_The Circle compels you to answer truthfully all questions put to you. Resistance will only bring you more pain._

"W-who… are you?" She groaned.

_It is my understanding that names mean little to your kind, so I grant you this instead._

She screamed as images flooded her mind.

_The shores of a black lake; ten shadow-cloaked figures watch as the waters part, revealing wide slime-slicked stone steps leading into the watery abyss. The Ten enter, knowing that only nine of them will ever leave this place._

_A forest of death; countless humans and gargoyles alike impaled atop row upon row of giant wooden stakes. Some of the gargoyles still twitch as a hellish sun rises, granting only temporary relief, and prolonging their agony for another night._

_A princely tomb; violently torn asunder from within as storms rage above._

_The gates of an ancient castle; a human mother pounds on them in fury and grief, crying out for her lost child as wolves driven by unnatural hunger descend upon her._

She collapsed to the ground as these and even fouler images assaulted her mind.

That _is who I am._

She staggered to her feet, her optics blazing red. The things it had shown her were horrific but what truly sickened her soul was the single emotion that pervaded centuries of unspeakable atrocities…

Pride.

_Now, my little tin ghost, tell me everything of your clan._

_**To be Continued…** _


	3. Act III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost a year since the Manhattan Clan's existence was revealed to the world. Since then they've had to deal with everything from humanity's fear to secret societies to magic talking rocks. Now there's a killer on the loose in New York, a killer that prowls the night skies and leaves bloodless corpses in its wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gargoyles, co-created by Greg Weisman, is the property of the Walt Disney Corporation. Dracula, created by Bram Stoker, is the property of everyone.
> 
> Thanks again to Masterdramon, Gryphinwyrm7 and BookwyrmPendragon13 feedback and inspiration

_Fox, David & Alexander Xanatos_

_Cordially invite you and a guest to_

_A Halloween Masque…_

_Ten o'clock p.m._

_October Thirty-First_

_The Atrium_

_At the_

_Eyrie Building_

_Central Park South_

_New York, New York_

*

**Manhattan,** **October 27th, 1997 AD**

"Dracula?" Elisa just let the word hang there, totally at a loss as to what she could possibly add to it. "Count Dracula… is in New York?"

"Yes, Detective, Dracula is real," Harker responded icily. "Along with King Arthur, Atlantis and Father Christmas. So, could we please skip the part of the proceedings where you all gawk at me incredulously?"

Elisa turned to Goliath. "You can't be buying this?"

Goliath grimaced, something was 'off' about this human. She had the scent of death about her. "It would explain the creature we saw the other night," He intoned.

"Elisa's right, lad," Hudson broke in. "I've seen this 'Dragula' on the television, he's just some human actor done up with plastic fangs and ketchup. He innae real."

"Yes, he is," Brooklyn spoke quietly. "I've met him."

Everyone present looked at Brooklyn, even Harker seemed surprised by this. "You have?"

"Vlad Tepes Dracula, 15th century Romanian warlord, aquiline nose, droopy mustache, sick sense of humor? Yeah, the first time was back when he was still alive. The Balkans weren't exactly a friendly place for the nocturnally inclined at the time but Tepes managed to strike up an uneasy alliance with the Carpathian gargoyle clan until…"

Goliath put a hand on his Second's shoulder. "Until what?"

Brooklyn sighed. "Until Tepes ordered the leader of the Carpathian clan to torture a Turkish prisoner of war to death."

"What did they do?" Goliath asked.

"Only decent thing she could do," Brooklyn sighed. "But Tepes made her and her whole clan pay for it."

Elisa was quiet for a moment before turning on the stranger. "Hold up! Harker? As in Jonathan and-"

"Mina Harker?" the Woman in Black responded. "Yes, I am… a descendant."

Before anyone else could say anything, Matt Bluestone suddenly burst through the rooftop door. "Elisa, you gotta come down to the TV room right-"

The eyes of two women and three gargoyles turned on him.

"Uh… bad time?" he asked.

*

**Central Park**

"This is Travis Marshall, reporting live from the Quarrymen's first anniversary rally in Central Park," the stolid reporter announced. "Where just a few moments ago, John Castaway, leader of the controversial 'community support group', startlingly accused elements within the NYPD of conspiring to cover up what he calls 'gargoyle atrocities'. This comes as- just a moment… it seems Mr. Castaway is calling someone up to the podium?"

A thin, haggard, though clean shaven and smartly dressed young man stepped up to a bank of microphones as Castaway placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Hello, my name is Martin Price," he cleared his throat, reading from a prepared statement. "I'm an ordinary working class guy. I'm not perfect, I admit I've made a lot of mistakes in life but I'm here to speak to you all because someone has to, someone has to say the things others won't."

"Up until a couple months ago I was living with my… girlfriend, LaVonne." Price kept his voice steady. "It was a struggle to make ends meet and the strain often took a toll on our relationship but we always found a way to make it work. Then about a month ago, after a fight, LaVonne ran off. I tried running after her, I wanted to say I was sorry, to try and patch things up, but I never got the chance."

"When I finally caught up with her, LaVonne was being… assaulted by a winged monster," he paused again as shocked gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd, waiting for them to die down. "I tried to fight it off but the creature was too strong, it overpowered me and I blacked out."

"Mr. Price," Travis raised his hand. "Why didn't you go to the police with this and why did you wait so long before stepping forward?"

"I…" Price ruffled through some sheets. "I was afraid that with my record, the police wouldn't take me seriously. I spent weeks in a deep depression, not knowing where to turn. Then a friend pointed me in the direction of the Quarrymen."

"With all due, respect, Mr. Marshall," Castaway gently pushed Price aside. "My friend, Martin is the victim here. A victim not only of these monsters' savagery, but of rogue elements within the NYPD itself! Elements guilty of gross negligence at best, and criminal conspiracy at worst!"

"Care to clarify Mr. Castaway?" Travis interjected.

"I cannot reveal my sources lest I risk endangering them," Castaway pontificated. "But I can reveal that only a few nights ago, the NYPD discovered the body of a young woman matching Ms. LaVonne's description, her throat torn out and left to rot atop a skyscraper rooftop!"

"These are very serious allegations, Mr. Castaway?" Travis responded.

"If I'm wrong then I Challenge the NYPD to prove it!" Castaway retorted as the crowd became ever more incensed.

*

LaVonne's fists clenched in pure rage, her nails digging deep into her palms, drawing forth black ichor as she watched Price blubber and fish for sympathy on live television.

Pale talons as cold as her own flesh rested soothingly on her shoulders and a voice like the night wind flowing through a sepulchre whispered in her ear.

"Go to him."

*

**Manhattan,** **October 28th**

The banging echoed through Price's skull as he dragged himself out of bed. He checked his alarm clock, it was almost five AM and already he could feel a hangover creeping over him. "Coming!"

The knock came again, piercing his skull as he checked to make sure he was still wearing pants and stumbled to the door. "I said I'm-"

"Hey, babe," LaVonne stood in the doorway, clad in a tight black mini-dress and little else. She smirked wickedly and leaned forward just enough to give him a good view. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"LaVonne?" Price blinked, trying to organize his thoughts. "I thought you were supposed to be-"

"I said," her eyes locked on his, numbing his already groggy brain. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Price grinned stupidly "Sure, I gue-"

Her hand struck across the threshold like a cobra, icy talons digging into his windpipe like a vice. She leaned in close to whisper in his ear. "You're gonna bleed for this, bitch."

*

**City Morgue**

Elisa arrived at the morgue about an hour before sunset. She found 'Dr. Will Hutter' in the autopsy room, pulling a plastic sheet over a shapeless mass on the examination table.

"That bad, huh?" Elisa asked.

"Indeed," Harker whispered.

"Was it Price?" Elisa inquired.

"Most likely," Harker responded. "Though the state the body was in, you're fortunate I was even able to identify it as male."

"Didn't think he was the Count's type?" The detective remarked.

"Believe me, he's not," the doctor rinsed her gloves under a tap. "Much like mortal serial killers, most vampires are rather… particular in their victimology. I once had a rather nasty run-in with a Hungarian countess who fed by bathing in the blood of young virgins."

Elisa tried to banish that image from her mind's eye with moderate success. "Stacy said there was no sign of forced entry at his apartment?"

"There wouldn't be," Harker replied. "A vampire cannot enter a mortal dwelling without first being invited."

"How often does a vampire need to feed?"

"It varies," Harker responded, fishing out a bag of tools. "Our quarry can usually make a reasonably mature female last roughly a month if he paces himself."

Elisa's mind started following that fact down a dark path of thought. How many people went missing in New York every month? How many unsolved murders? They'd only known about Dracula because he'd made a spectacle of his first kill. Was that girl even his first? What about the smart ones? The ones who picked out prey that nobody would miss, the ones who made it look like accidents, muggings gone wrong or just disgruntled family members running away from home? How many other killers who didn't show up on cameras were out there?

Elisa was broken out of her brooding by a clinking sound. She looked up to see Harker laying out a mallet, a sharpened wooden stake and what looked like a large hacksaw.

"Just in case," Harker uncovered the body.

*

**October 31st**

Coldfire checked her internal chronometer, sunset was only a few hours away. Over the course of the past few nights, her captor had ruthlessly extracted many of her clan's secrets from her. At first his questions had been general, their strengths and the castle's defenses. Soon though they had becoming increasingly specific, focusing in on one individual.

She now felt certain she knew the creature's goal. Though without some way to warn her clan and soon, she didn't see how it could make much difference. The necromantic circle still bound her spirit as securely as any physical shackles.

"I wonder?" The idea seemed ludicrous, even morbid but she had to attempt  _something_.

She carefully began working her wrist, undoing panels and connectors until her robotic hand slid gently out of its socket. She gave a wordless prayer before lobbing the dismembered appendage across the invisible barrier.

It landed on the other side of the inscribed circle seemingly without incident. She concentrated, accessing circuits and on-board programming she'd never expected to use.

The disembodied talons suddenly sprang to life, scuttling across the stone floor towards a nearby vent like some golden metallic spider.

*

**CallmeAmp:**  Dracula? Seriously?

**TinMan994:**  Yeah, you know him?

**CallmeAmp:**  Well sorta, Stoker's novel is practically required reading around Knight Spur.

**TinMan994:**  Oh… okay.

**CallmeAmp:**  You've never read it, have you, luv?

**TinMan994:**  Cut me some slack. My reading list is about a thousand years long.

**CallmeAmp:**  Alright, luv. TL;DR Version: Old Pog used to be pretty tight with the Van Helsing family back in the day. When Drac came stalking around London back in the Year of Our Lord eighteen-something-something, they sent him packing.

**TinMan994:**  And wrote a book?

**CallmeAmp:**  Patience, young Skywalker, I'm getting to that. See, neither Pog nor Van Helsing could ever be sure Drac was gone for good. They wanted a way to warn to world. But they knew everybody would think they were mental if they started ranting about some undead Romanian warlord coming to kill us all.

**TinMan994:**  I bet.

**CallmeAmp:** I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but they got in touch with a certain Irish theatre manager who had the clever idea of publishing their story as Gothic fiction, a sort of stealth vampire hunting manual. Stoker changed and left out a lot of stuff though, Pog didn't want any mention of the clan in the book for one thing.

**TinMan994:**  Wow, anything else I should know?

**CallmeAmp:**  Honestly, that's all I know, luv. This was all way before my time, before a lot of my rookery parents' time. Old Pog's not exactly the sort to talk about his feelings, and when it comes to Dracula it'd probably be easier to get him to open up at high noon. I get the feeling something happened between those two that didn't get into the official version of the story. Sorry, luv.

**TinMan994:**  It's cool. Maybe Dr. Harker knows more.

**TinMan994:**  Sorry, Amp. Gotta check on something. BBL.

_TinMan994 has exited the chat._

**CallmeAmp:**  Who's Dr. Harker?

*

**The Clock Tower**

Harker spread a map of the island over an empty table. Neither Goliath nor Elisa trusted Harker enough to grant her access to the castle, so they'd agreed to meet at the clan's former home over the 23rd precinct. "We need to find the Count's lair. You all know Manhattan better than I do."

"How do you know he's in Manhattan at all?" Elisa asked. "What's to stop him popping across the river from one of the other boroughs?"

"The river itself," the vampire hunter replied. "The Count cannot cross running water except at neap or high tide, at least not under his own power. He can, of course, employ some mortal dupe or minion to ferry him across at any time, but he prefers not to rely on others if it can be avoided. It stands to reason his lair is somewhere on the island."

"Or he just hails a cab," Brooklyn quipped. "Doesn't Tepes need to sleep in his native soil during the day or something like that?"

"Yes and no," answered Harker. "The Enemy parasitizes land as well as body, he must rejuvenate himself at mystical or spiritual loci that have been tainted or corrupted in some fashion. His Castle in the Borgo Pass was built on such a nexus. Usually, he ships soil from there to any new base of operation. But in theory, any piece of desecrated Holy Ground would do, a suicide's grave or a deconsecrated church for example."

"Guys!" Lexington suddenly burst into the chamber, panting. "I came as fast as I could, I got Coldfire's tracking signal!"

"My rookery sister!" Goliath exclaimed. "Where?"

"It's pretty faint, but I've narrowed it down to about a block or two." The yellow-green gargoyle pulled print-out that had been stuffed under his belt and pointed to a location on the map somewhere in midtown.

Elisa and Goliath examined the block in question before exchanging pensive looks. "Goliath, that's awfully close to…" Elisa trailed off.

"St. Damien's" Goliath growled. "There is your desecrated Holy Ground, Dr. Harker."

"I take it you all have some history there?" the vampire hunter inquired.

"That's putting it mildly," Elisa sniped. "But the cathedral was torn down last year. It just some tacky nightclub now."

"The Divine touch cannot be washed away so easily, detective, no matter how polluted," said Harker.

"Tonight we rescue our kin and confront this beast in his own lair." Goliath fist clenched as his eyes flared white.

Brooklyn nodded. "Lex, head back to the castle get everybody ready to roll out, we'll meet you there."

"Right!" Lex responded before loping on all fours towards the door in the clock-face.

Once his rookery brother was out of earshot, Brooklyn turned back towards his leader. "You sure about this, Goliath? Our PR is bad enough right now without laying siege to a human nightclub on one of the biggest party nights of the year."

"I am open to alternatives, old friend," the lavender giant intoned.

Brooklyn tapped his beak again. "Do we still have those costumes Fox ordered?"

*

**_Sacrilege_ **

An hour later, most of the clan stood assembled before the doors of  _Sacrilege_ , along with Harker. Goliath, Katana and Harker had all elected to remain in their standard garb. Elisa was continuing her traditional theme, going as Esmeralda from Disney's  _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_. Broadway and Angela were co-ordinating as Philip Marlowe and Vivian Rutledge from  _The Big Sleep_.

Lexington for his part had opted to go as the Fourth Doctor, a long gaudily patterned scarf trailing behind him. "Jelly baby?" he offered Brooklyn a small paper bag.

The former TimeDancer cocked an eyebrow ridge. "Seriously, Lex?"

"What?" Lex's eyes widened slightly "Oooh… right, sorry." He sheepishly put the bag away.

"Nah, it's cool. Just a little on edge is all," Brooklyn was clad in a cheap tuxedo, glasses over his eyepatch and wearing a fez emblazoned with what looked like Pac-Man. Gnash had opted for burgundy a t-shirt, navy blue hooded vest and a baseball cap bearing a blue pine tree.

"What are you guys supposed to be anyway?" Broadway asked.

"Spoilers," they responded in unison.

Broadway looked to Katana, who simply shrugged.

"Trust us," Brooklyn waved a wooden cane topped by an eight-ball. "This is gonna be hilarious in about fifteen years."

Goliath stepped forward only to be blocked by the silent bouncer. "Stand aside, porter. We have business with your master!" the gargoyle growled. The bouncer simply glared back impassively.

"Goliath," Brooklyn placed a talon on his leader's shoulder. "Let me try something." The one-eyed gargoyle stepped toward the glassy eyed bouncer. "Hey, buddy," Brooklyn reached into his pocket and withdrew a crisp bill. "Maybe my friend, Mr. Franklin here can change your mind?"

The bouncer examined the bill for a moment, before mechanically tearing it into a dozen pieces and letting it fall to the sidewalk.

"Okay, maybe my other friend will be more persuasive?" Brooklyn immediately socked the bouncer right in the jaw, sending him crumpling to the ground. "Jerk, meet Mr. Fisty. Mr. Fisty, Jerk."

The remaining would be patrons gaped at the gargoyles in shock for several minutes, before erupting in righteous cheering. With that the Manhattan Clan, and the unwashed masses, crossed the threshold of  _Sacrilege_.

*

Katana shielded her eyes as they tried to adjust to the ever-shifting light. The constant thumping, grinding noise and the scent of over a hundred sweaty humans was not helping. "Are these humans unwell? Most of them appear to be flailing uncontrollably?"

Brooklyn said something.

"What?"

"I said," her mate reiterated. "It's called dancing, honey."

"In Ishumura," she replied. "Dancing required a certain amount of skill…" She passed a pair of humans writhing awkwardly against each other, "and dignity."

Brooklyn smirked and opened his beak to retort when an armoured fist sent him hurtling across the dance floor, scattering panicked humans in all directions like frightened chickens.

Katana drew her namesake and turned to face the human dog who had the audacity to attack her mate, but no human greeted her eyes. The creature appeared to be the guard from the door, except his skin had somehow hardened into a black beetle like carapace.

She struck her blade against the creature, only to have it rebound ineffectually, as though she had tried cutting a diamond in half. The creature responded by backhanding her across the room.

Katana swore violently in her native tongue as she staggered to her feet, eager for another shot at the creature who was now struggling mightily with Goliath, Broadway and Angela.

"Katana!" Lexington cried out. He, Nashville and the Harker woman were under attack from the establishment's female barkeep, whose nails had elongated to foot long black talons. Her clan-mates were attempting to shield themselves with up turned tables and chairs, but the creature sliced through them as though they were paper.

Katana pounced with a panther-like shriek, parrying the creature's attack before it had a chance to skewer Lexington. "Are these more vampires?"

"No," Harker shouted as she pulled Lexington out of the creature's path. "Homunculi, alchemical constructs created by the Count to guard his lair."

"Are they alive?" Katana asked as she dodged another slash.

Harker paused for a moment... "No."

"Nashville, cover me!" Katana parried the thing's talon with only one hand upon her blade. The second reached for the tachi still in her scabbard and with one movement, almost too fast for the eye to see, decapitated her opponent. The creature began disintegrating into a flaky powder before it even hit the ground.

"Little help!" she heard her mate call out. He and the rest of the clan were still struggling with the male homunculus.

"We're coming Brook-" Nashville attempted to rush to their aid before being blocked by Katana.

"Wait," she spoke simply. "Our weapons cannot pierce the creature's hide."

"We have to do something," her pupil protested.

"I am. I am studying." She watched as the creature aimed a punch at Goliath's face. "It can still see."

"Everyone down!" she yelled as she drew two shuriken. The rest of the clan obliged, hitting the ground as Katana sent the steel stars flying.

The creature bellowed in agony, clawing futilely at the metal shards now embedded deep in its eye sockets. All thoughts of protecting its master's lair driven from its mind as it stumbled howling into the night, the last few panicked humans fallowing.

Katana reached down to help her mate to his feet. Brooklyn surveyed the demolished and deserted nightclub.

"Well… so much for stealth."

*

Broadway and Angela burst into the main office, along with Harker as the rest of the clan searched elsewhere. It certainly didn't seem like the lair of on undead fiend. A wooden desk with various pieces of paperwork scattered across it, a modest bookshelf, a few paintings and other decorative pieces, none of which seemed especially old or valuable.

"So, what are we looking for exactly?" Angela asked.

"There must be a passage to the crypt in here somewhere," Harker replied. "Look for a secret entrance of some kind."

Angela examined the shelf, "Let's see,  _Carmilla_  by Sheridan le Fanu,  _Varney the Vampire; or The Feast of Blood_ by James Malcolm Rymer,  _The Vampyre_  by John William Polidori." She began experimentally tugging books from their place with no reaction. "Guess that would be rather obvious."

"What about this?" Broadway pointed out a bust depicting a handsome, by human standards anyway, young man wearing a crown. She bent to read the inscription on the base. "Radu cel Frumos?"

"Radu the Handsome," Harker cocked her head.

"You know him?" He turned to the enigmatic woman.

"He was Vlad Dracula's brother," she explained. "But Radu sided with the Turks against Vlad. Why would the Count keep a bust of a man he despised?"

"Perhaps he regrets the way things turned out between them?" Angela offered.

"Or maybe…" Broadway jammed two talons into the bust's marble eyeballs. A section of the wall slowly drew back, revealing a dark stone staircase descending into the building's foundations.

"How in the world did you know that would work?" Angela asked.

"Good detective work," her mate beamed proudly. "And I… saw it in a cartoon once."

*

Angela crouched low as they made their way they along the catacombs to the main crypt. It was eerily cold, dark and silent, a sharp contrast to the blinding cacophony of the nightclub above. Several passages of far more recent excavation branched off the main corridor. "It must have taken months to dig all these?"

"Perhaps years," Harker added. "Our quarry is nothing if not patient. "You should look for your friends. I will proceed to the tomb and purify it so that the he may not sleep there again."

"Very well," Goliath intoned. "We will search in pairs: Broadway with Angela, Brooklyn with Katana, Nashville with Lexington. Elisa and I will accompany Dr. Harker."

"If you insist," Harker assented.

Angela and Broadway took a corridor to the right, feeling their way along the wall, barely enough light for even gargoyle eyes.

"I do not understand this vampire," Angela mused. "If he's as cunning as Dr. Harker claims, why kill those people like that?"

"I don't know, Angela," her mate responded sadly. "I love humans but… some of the things they do to each other…" Broadway shivered.

"It's not just that," Angela responded. "I mean, if he can create this lair in secret, surely he could have found a way to dispose of his victims without making a spectacle of it. Why risk making his presence know?"

"Huh, good question," Broadway stroked his chin thoughtfully. "It's almost as if he wanted us to know he was in town."

"Wait, I think there's some sort of door here," Angela wrapped her claws around a metal handle and tested it.

"Locked?" Broadway inquired.

Her eyes briefly flared crimson as she wrenched the lock out of the door-frame, scattering wooden splinters across the floor. "Not anymore."

*

Coldfire's optics blazed red as the door slowly creaked open. The talons of her remaining hand flexed. She was ready for the monster to do his worst and to respond in kind the first chance she got.

"Mother?"

Coldfire was stunned. "Daughter?"

Angela rushed forward to embrace her rookery-mother. The undead gargoyle returned the embrace as warmly as her metal limbs would allow.

"Thank heaven we found you! Where is Coldstone?" Angela asked.

"The next cell over, I think," Coldfire responded.

"I'll get him," Broadway quickly bounded back up the stairs on all fours.

"Daughter, you must break the circle before I can leave."

Angela looked down and began clawing out the arcane symbols engraved on the stone floor. "There, now we must get you out of here."

"Wait, what of the devil?" Coldfire implored.

"Don't worry about Dracula, there's no sign of him anywhere in his lair." Angela reassured her.

"We must return to the castle at once!" Coldfire yelled.

"Mother, what's wrong?"

"We were never the devil's true target!"

*

**Eyrie Building**

Fox smiled as she surveyed the Atrium. It was almost midnight and the Xanatos family's annual Halloween 'bash' was in full swing. Guests crowded almost every square foot of floor space. Pretty much every one who was anyone in the city was here. Judge Roebling seemed to be enjoying his Foghorn Leghorn outfit a little more than he probably should, while Dr. Sato made for a fine Dr. McCoy. Fox noticed him making small talk with the owners of WVRN, who still wore the same medieval outfits they favored every year, their private little joke.

Well almost everyone, the twin heads of Nightstone Unlimited appeared to have declined their invitations. Not that Fox was surprised. Her 'step-son' would rather crash a party than be invited, and her 'maid of honor' would probably have a psychotic fit in such a crowd. Fox always thought it was a shame things never worked out between those two. If nothing else, getting laid regularly would probably have done wonders for Demona's general disposition.

Fox was most disappointed not to see their 'tenants' and Detective Maza, who had been called away on duty. Pity, she'd taken a little indirect inspiration from the good detective by going as Maleficent from Disney's  _Sleeping Beauty._  Though Fox imagined many self-styled purists would point out Maleficent never had such a plunging neckline in the animated classic. David hadn't been suited for the role of the Prince Philip, so they'd compromised and he settled for Gaston from  _Beauty and The Beast_.

But other than that, everyone was exactly where they should be except- "David, where's Owen?"

"He wanted to keep an eye on Alexander," David drawled. "He thought it'd be best given your plans for tonight."

"You should watch that one, David." Fox chuckled. "Aide de camp, chauffeur, cook, bodyguard, instructor in the mystic arts and nanny. He's dangerously overqualified." She joked of course, with the obvious exception of David, Owen Burnett was the only living soul on the face of the earth she trusted absolutely and unreservedly. "Still, I should probably check in on them."

"Of course," her husband responded as she pecked him on the cheek before turning for the elevator.

*

The minute Fox stepped into the Great Hall of Castle Wyvern, she knew something was wrong. With the party confined to the Atrium and most of the gargoyles out on 'clan business', she had expected the castle to be quiet, but the silence that greeted her was downright preternatural. "Owen… Alexander...?" she called out as, drawing a small pistol from the folds of her costume. She carefully made her way through the corridors that led to Alexander's nursery.

The door of the nursery stood ajar but no light shone within. Fox slowly and silently swung it open as she crept forward and swore under her breath.

Owen, wrapped in sturdy iron chains, hung unconscious from the nursery's ceiling. Alexander still lay fast asleep in his bed, but he wasn't alone. A pale woman in a black dress sat over the covers cradling him, a talon-like nail casually running along the boy's throat.

"Shhh…" The pale woman raised a finger to her ruby-red lips. "Baby's sleeping," she crooned. "He's adorable by the way, good enough to eat." She licked her lips revealing long, needle like fangs.

For one of the few moments in her life, Fox hesitated. Even at this range, she couldn't take a shot without risking hitting Alexander. In that single moment of indecision, the pale woman pounced, pinning Fox to the floor and crushing the pistol between her fingers like tinfoil.

"Nice costume, but I always liked  _Snow White_  better," The pale woman said as she admired Fox's outfit. "You know what my favorite part of that movie always was?" She grinned wickedly as her hand tightened around Fox's throat, "The scene where the miserable old hag dies! As a kid, I used to fantasize it was  _my_  wretched hag of a step-mother. You remind me of her. Rich and pretty, acting like you're better than me! Well you're not, do you hear me!" She shook Fox violently, slamming the back of her head against the floor. "You're not better than me, no woman is! He could have had any woman he wanted but he chose ME! NOT YOU! ME!"

Fox could only respond with a chocked gurgle as she struggled to breathe.

"I'll tell you something else," the pale woman leaned close and whispered in Fox's ear. "After I'm done with you, I'm going to rip out your little brat's heart!"

No sooner where these words spoken than the very air around the two women began to swirl. Fox's eyes suddenly snapped open, radiating an emerald faery light.

The pale woman recoiled, "What the-" she was cut off by a blast of that same emerald light punching her through a solid stone wall.

Fox stepped into the castle courtyard, eldritch flames pouring fourth from her hands and eyes. Ever since her 'step-father' had tried to abduct her son on the very night of his birth, Fox had made attempts to draw again on the mystic powers the were her birth-right, even sitting in on a few of Alex's lessons with Owen, but nothing ever seemed to come of it. Perhaps, she wasn't intellectually suited to sorcery, maybe the power would not come if she tried to analyse it. But at that moment, Fox didn't care about the how and why.

The pale women tried to struggle to her feet, "Why... you miserable cu-", Fox hurled another blast of eldritch fire at her foe, and another, and another, each blast searing away the thing's undead flesh faster than it could regenerate until eventually it had been reduced to little more than a charred skeleton by Fox's raw fury made manifest. Against all reason, the thing moved.

Fox glared down on the wretched creature without pity or remorse. David always said revenge was a 'sucker's game' and generally she agreed. But this  _thing_  had invaded her home, threatened her son. She raised her hand towards it. Damn pragmatism, damn the plan, she was going to make sure it died screaming. "Any famous last words?"

"'yyy… 'yyy… 'rince…" It feebly moaned between lipless gums.

The entire courtyard fell into darkness as every one of the electric lights flickered and died. Even the faery lights dancing around her form seemed merely to accentuate rather than illuminate the darkness of the moonless night. A voice cold and empty as the grave whispered a single word in her ear…

"Magnificent."

Fox turned and raised her hand. She couldn't make out his clothes; they seemed to blend into the surrounding darkness as if woven from the very shadows, but the energy coursing through her highlighted a pale wolf skull. Eyes like twin carmine stars burned in its black sockets, glaring down on her

"Such power… such ferocity…" the masked specter whispered as it slowly walked, or glided, around her; apprising her like a prize racehorse. "You are everything I hoped you'd be and more, Fox. You possess the heart of a true predator."

Fox cocked an eyebrow, "Do I know you?"

"Forgive me, it is nigh midnight after all. Time to lay aside masks and disguises," he removed the wolf-skull mask to reveal a face hardly less skeletal or lupine. "I am Dracula."

Fox's eyes widened in astonishment. "Get out!"

_**To be Concluded…** _


	4. Act IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost a year since the Manhattan Clan's existence was revealed to the world. Since then they've had to deal with everything from humanity's fear to secret societies to magic talking rocks. Now there's a killer on the loose in New York, a killer that prowls the night skies and leaves bloodless corpses in its wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gargolyes, co-created by Greg Weisman, is the property of the Walt Disney Corporation. Dracula, created by Bram Stoker, is the property of everyone.
> 
> Thanks again to Masterdramon, Gryphinwyrm7 and BookwrymPendragon13 for feedback and inspiration.

**Purfleet, London,** **November 5th, 1996 A.D.**

"At last," Fox smirked. "Carfax Estate."

The scarlet glow of sunset cast lurid light upon the ruins of the unkempt estate, giving the whole setting a hellish taint. Fox imagined herself standing at the gates of Dante's City of Dis or the temple of some forgotten god. Though she thought the plastic "FOR SALE" sign plastered over by a "SOLD" sticker marred the atmosphere somewhat.

Per her research, the property had lain abandoned for most of the past century. One notable exception in the '30s had culminated in a rather nasty murder-suicide. Surprisingly, despite what she knew of the estate's rather 'colorful' history, it didn't seem to play much role in the local folklore.

She'd spent the better part of the afternoon down at the local pub, trying to chat or flirt a little info out of the more garrulous locals. The fact that  _The Pack_  still commanded something of a cult following certainly helped. Still, she'd heard no tales of ghoulish faces peering out the windows in the dead of night, or spectral maidens wandering the grounds. If anything, most folk just considered it an eyesore.

On the other hand, a casual mention of the upcoming transfer of the Stone of Scone from Westminster's Abbey to Edinburgh Castle had provoked a very spirited political debate. Rather than take sides, Fox took the opportunity to quietly slip out.

The Stone of Destiny was obstinately the reason she and her husband were in London to begin with. The 'Society' had given David's his first official assignment. The Stone was the key to unlocking further advancement in the echelons. But if they were visiting London, she saw no reason not to scout out some potential 'side-projects'. Especially while they'd distracted so many of their 'competitors' elsewhere.

For years, David had channelled a not insignificant portion of Xanatos Enterprises' resources towards a single goal; cheating death itself. He'd explored everything from magic cauldrons to Egyptian gods to Native American trickster spirits, not to mention half a dozen other ongoing projects. So far, the results failed to live up to his expectations. But David never let a few false starts curb his ambition, no matter how lofty.

She loved that about him.

Ultimately, she did this for David. Possibly, her own "heritage" might extend her lifespan far beyond the human norm. But the prospect of spending decades or even centuries without him at her side left her cold.

Inevitably, the brand of immortality supposedly possessed by this estate's most infamous resident was placed under consideration. Ultimately, they'd both agreed that it be saved only as an absolute last resort. Still, Fox saw no harm in doing a little fact-finding.

Unfortunately, Fox found little in the way of pertinent-facts. She searched the ruins of the old house for almost an hour before she finally came to the doors of the ruined chapel.

She carefully forced the rotting wooden doors aside and stepped into the ruins of the chapel. Despite (or because of) her father's best efforts, Fox never cared much for organized religion. She'd always considered herself a 'Humanist' at heart. Still, she couldn't deny the place had a certain austere beauty to it.

Fox's hand caressed the broken marble altar at the center of the ruin, a tactile exploration of the ravages time and the elements had wrought. It cast a certain air of futility over the whole exercise. Even if her quarry even existed, this place was purged of all trace of him over a century ago.

Fox's cell rang, snapping her out of her funk. She quickly drew back her hand, cutting her finger along a jagged edge of marble. "Damn!"

She flipped out the cell, leaning against a pillar. "Hey, babe… not much, just doing a little sight-seeing. Honestly, it's something of a bore, might just head back to the hotel." She smirked wickedly at his response. "Well if you're offering, be there in an hour. Ciao, babe."

As she shut the phone, Fox quietly vowed never to let the man she loved wither and decay like that, even if she had to defy Heaven and Hell alike to do it. But for now, she planned to make the most of the night, maybe go shopping tomorrow. She fancied herself a new pair of shoes.

The last light of sunset died. The white marble altar stood stained by a single crimson drop, and a shadow fell over the empty chapel.

*

**Castle Wyvern,** **November 1st, 1997 A.D.**

"How did you get in here?" Fox snarled.

"You invited me," Count Dracula, self-styled Lord of the Undead, spoke. He reached into his robe, drawing out a gilded invitation. "Or rather, you invited 'D. Ville', reclusive owner of the notorious  _Sacrilege_ nightclub."

The emerald flames around Fox's hand flared. She kept them trained on the creature. His ice blue eyes never left hers for a second. He circled her like a wolf waiting to pick a straggler from the herd.

"For the past year, I have watched you, Fox. I have learned everything I could of you. I know all about your father… and your mother," he grinned wickedly, revealing canines that looked more at home in the muzzle of an animal than a human mouth.

"Wonderful," Fox rolled her eyes. "You're a fanboy."

The vampire scowled. "I have come to grant you that which you most seek… Immortality."

"You make her the same offer?" Fox tilted her head at the charred mass now clutching pitifully at the hem of the vampire's robe.

He did not even glance at the burnt thing as he brought a boot down on its skeletal fingers. The thing let loose a scream of anguish that trailed off into pitiful sobbing.

"The harlot? She was a weapon, nothing more or less. Slay her if it gives you pleasure. Consider it a gift…" he stepped closer, looming over Fox. "My Bride."

"Flattered, but I'm already spoken for," Fox let loose of blast of emerald flame, seemingly vaporizing the vampire lord.

Wisps of mist suddenly swirled around Fox's wrists, coalescing into icy talons that dug into her flesh as the Count reformed.

His eyes blazed crimson. "I was not asking your permission."

Before Fox could react, the vampire's fangs sunk into her throat. The eldritch flames surrounding her flickered and died. Her limbs went limp as the he gorged himself on her lifeblood.

Normally, he would not take so much in a single feeding, but the power in the halfling's blood intoxicated beyond anything he had ever imagined. He could hear her heart slowing. If he did not act, she would soon be nothing but a empty meat.

The vampire wrenched himself away from her bloodied throat with effort. He took a single talon and sliced into his own tongue. It drew a trickle of night black ichor that looked more like molten tar than blood.

He was after all, still a Prince. What better way to awaken his new Bride into eternal night than with a kiss? He lowered his head until his lips hovered mere inches over hers.

The vampire's back erupted in white hot pain. He released his prey and recoiled. He turned to face his attacker, snarling like a cornered animal. An aged, potbellied and one-eyed gargoyle brandished what appeared to be a sterling silver carving knife in his talons.

"Surely you jest?" the vampire hissed.

"Dinnae call me 'Shirley!'" the old soldier charged, eyes blazing, evidently intent on decapitating the vampire.

Dracula raised his hand. A burst of crimson light blasted forth from his palm, sending the aged gargoyle flying across the castle courtyard. He looked down in wonderment at the eldritch power flowing through him, as it did the halfling only moments ago.

Out of the corner of his eye, the vampire spied two enraged gargoyle beasts snarling and bounding towards him, one a rich blue and the other darkish green. He turned and snarled imperiously. The moment his eyes met theirs, the beasts stopped in their tracks. They pawed the ground and whimpered in confusion. Their eyes glazed over.

"Come, my pets," he spoke softly as the two beasts ambled forward and licked his outstretched hand.

A roar pierced the night. The vampire gazed upward to see nine winged shapes gliding towards him.

"Listen to them—the children of the night. What music they make!"

*

As Brooklyn and the clan swooped down on the courtyard, he was stunned by the sight that greeted his eye. Hudson was staggering to his feet amidst a pile of rubble. Fox lay in a slowly growing pool of crimson at the foot of a looming dark figure. Most disturbing of all, Bronx and Fu-Dog were fawning at the invader's side.

"Hudson!" Goliath roared as he landed at his mentor's side.

"Ach… I'm fine… just winded me," the clan elder waved away the younger warrior. "Help Fox! That grave-spawn's drained her nigh unto death!"

"I'll get her!" Lexington bounded forward only to be stopped cold by Bronx and Fu-Dog snarling at him with blazing white eyes.

"Easy, Lex," Brooklyn said, standing between his rookery brother and the entranced beasts. His eye narrowed as he considered the face of the dark figure. The centuries strangely withered it but he recognized the look of lion-like disdain in its eyes and the predatory leer on its mouth, now smeared with gore.

"Is that really you, Tepes?"

The vampire cocked his head. "Have we met?"

"Yeah," Brooklyn's eye blazed in white hot fury. "I was there when you butchered the last gargoyle clan in Romania!"

"Now I recall," the Count stroked his blood-spattered chin. "The 'Gargoyle of the Sword' they called you. Shouldn't you be dead by now?"

"Funny," Brooklyn drew his broadsword. "I was gonna ask you the same thing."

"Easily corrected," The vampire smiled. "Beasts!"

Bronx and Fu-Dog perked up.

"Kill him."

Brooklyn's eye clenched tight at the two gargate beasts snarled and pounced. He waited for the rending of fang and claw to come.

Nothing.

He opened his eye. Bronx and Fu-Dog stood at his feet, whimpering and growling as they shook their heads back and forth, trying to shake free of an invisible web.

"I command you to kill, beasts!" the vampire bellowed.

Brooklyn slowly placed a hand on Fu-Dog's brow. The beast winced, blinked and then happily licked the red gargoyle's talons. Hudson quickly affected the same change on Bronx.

"Looks like you're losing your touch, Tepes," Brooklyn drew his eight-ball topped cane, sharpened to a wooden point. The entire clan of gargoyles began circling the vampire.

"So be it," the vampire snarled, drawing away from his fallen prey as his foes drew closer. "If you would face the Son of the Dragon…"

Blue flames of eldritch fire sprang up about the vampire, engulfing him, forcing the gargoyles back. The flames filled half the courtyard without seeming to burn anything they touched.

In an instant, the flames dispersed, revealing a monstrosity whose wings scraped opposite ends of the courtyard. The thing resembled a dragon in only general outline. Its long, sinuous body nightmarishly melded elements of serpent, wolf, vampire bat and rotting human corpse.

"Um," Broadway's eyes widened. "Can vampires normally do that?"

The entire castle shook with the Dragon's laughter. "I am no longer a mere vampire!" it roared. "The power… the blood of Titania herself flows through me! I am an Unliving GOD!"

Before the clan could react, the Dragon surged forward. The gargoyles barely had time to leap clear as it powered through the castle walls and dived into the night. The clap of the thing's vast leather wings thundered through the night.

Elisa ran to Fox's side. She pressed her hands to the bleeding throat as the courtyard elevator opened.

"FOX!" David Xanatos ran to his wife's side, followed closely by Dr. Sato.

"She's lost a lot of blood," Dr. Sato examined the wound, instinct and training taking over. "David, are you two blood-type compatible?"

"Yes, of course!" he answered.

"Then you and Elisa help me get her to the infirmary."

Lexington dived down from the hole still gaping into the nursery, "Alex is fine but Owen's still out cold."

"Goliath," Brooklyn said. "We need to go after Tepes. If he's already been invited into our home, then he can come and go as he pleases!"

"Brooklyn, what are you suggesting?" Goliath responded.

"I know how this sounds, but you have no idea what Tepes is capable of. We stood up to him and he will  _never_  let that go. Believe me, he was a monster long before he grew fangs."

*

**Apex Tower**

"There!" Brooklyn shouted over roaring winds. He pointed out a winged shadow soaring among the rolling thunderclouds over the tower.

"So what exactly is the plan?" Broadway shouted. "How are we supposed to fight a vampire hopped up on Third Race magic?"

"The Magus always said mixing magics was dangerous!" Angela yelled. "Perhaps he's not as in control of his new powers as he thinks?"

"Then perhaps we should test that?" Goliath bellowed. "Everyone, pick your moment! Strike hard and fast, then draw back!"

Katana and Brooklyn struck first, their blades sliced through the sail-like dragon wings. The undead Dragon coiled its head back and snarled more in indignation than pain. "Brief gnats! You think to slay one who is as eternal as night itself?"

"You know most of us are like five hundred years older than you, right?" Brooklyn quipped.

The Dragon unleashed a jet of bright blue flame from its gaping maw. Unholy fire racked the sky, seeking to incinerate the pair. Hudson struck from behind with the sterling silver carving knife. The silver blade sunk to the hilt the Dragon's flesh, eliciting a roar of agony.

"Keep it up lads, he cannae fight us all!" Hudson bellowed as he hung on to the writhing demon for dear life. Gnash loosed a shuriken into the Dragon's eye. Angela and Broadway raked its underbelly. Again, and again, blade and talon cut into undead flesh, gliding away before the thing could retaliate.

"ENOUGH!" the Dragon roared. Black wings clapped, creating a peal of thunder that scattered the attacking gargoyles to the wind. "You insects die tonight! Even if I must reduce this entire city to rubble!"

The Dragon's rage called down dozens of lightning bolts from the black sky. The clan took shelter on a nearby rooftop as best they could while the winds rose to a shrieking gale.

Brooklyn glared up at the rampaging Dragon hovering directly over the needle like spire of the Apex Tower. "I have an idea!"

The Dragon laughed as the storm raged, drunk on its new power. It did not heed the gargoyles attempting to evade its onslaught, nor the glowing green cracks staring to spread across its black hide.

"NOW!" Brooklyn yelled.

Almost as one, the entire gargoyle clan rammed into the Dragon. The winged demon snarled in irritation as it began losing altitude.

"Fools! What do you suppose this will accompli-" a screech of agony cut off the Dragon's rant as the steel spire of the Apex tower begin to pierce its undead flesh.

"NO!" the Dragon bellowed as it looked down at the energy surging from its wound. Again, the entire clan hammered down, staking the demon upon the skyscraper itself.

"NOOOOOOOO!" it shrieked again as eldritch energy consumed it from within in a final burst of emerald flame.

The light faded and the winds died down, carrying a few faint wisps of mist with them.

"Is it over?" Angela asked.

Goliath frowned as he eyed the mist. "Let us break into teams and sweep the area… just to be sure."

*

He hobbled across the rooftop before collapsing and violently retching a torrent of glowing green ichor. The Halfling's blood had not agreed with him. The gargoyles had apparently triumphed over the guardians of his crypt and the harlot had proven less than useless.

No matter.

They were all fodder, easily replaceable. All that mattered now was that  _he_  escape this accursed island. He knew the beasts' mettle now. This was only a minor skirmish, a scouting mission. Next time he would wait and prepare. Either the beasts or their descendants would pay. He could afford to be patient. His vengeance spanned centuries.

*

"There," Coldfire and her mate touched down on the rooftop. A faintly glowing trail led to a doorway torn from its hinges. She rubbed a small sample of the ichor between her talons. Its greenish glow faded to reveal dark red. "Angela was right, the beast could not contain the magic in Fox's blood. We should radio our clan and wait."

"By the time they get here the revenant may be long gone! We cannot let him escape unpunished, not after…" He touched the empty socket where his robotic arm had once been.

Every night since they were captured, she'd listened to her mate's distant cries of anguish. She placed her remaining hand on his. "Very well. First we radio the clan, then we end this monster."

The building itself appeared to be a medical facility of some sort. It reminded Coldfire uncomfortably of the morgue where they had first faced a revenant. Several posters placed upon the wall revealed its purpose.

"Give blood, save lives." her mate intoned.

"A blood bank? Our quarry must be desperate," she replied.

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

"Because he fancies himself a hunter, not a scavenger. He would not seek sustenance in such a place unless he had no choice," she responded.

They eventually came to what looked like a vault, great steel door swung slightly ajar. The chamber within stretched into the cold and the dark. Everywhere stood shelves holding countless plastic bags filled with crimson liquid.

Her mate screamed.

She turned to find his body contorted, feet dangled mere inches above the ground. The claw-marks of invisible talons dug into his metal breastplate and fore arm.

"My love!" She cried.

The unseen thing dragged her mate bodily into the darkness of the vaulted ceiling above. Her thrusters blazed, carrying her up until she landed atop one of the high shelves. Her optics scanned the darkness but found no sign of either mate or foe.

Synthesized pain erupted in her artificial wings, sending her falling back to the ground below. The tiled floor cracked as she impacted. She attempted to stagger to her feet, only to be thrown down again under the unconscious form of her mate.

"Beloved?" she cried as she wriggled free, cradling his unconscious form.

_He is dead._

She felt the words touch her mind as they had in that dungeon. They carried the same miasma of spiritual decay, as though a soul could literally rot.

_You are dead. Your clan is dead. All those you love were damned from the moment you chose to raise a talon against me._

She dimmed her optics as the shadow drew closer, trusted to Providence. The presence felt closer than ever now. True death could only be a moment away. She whispered a silent prayer.

Her hand shot out like a steel cobra. She saw nothing but still smiled as her talons bit into all too corporeal flesh.

With a synthesized roar of panther-like fury, she hurled her captive into the nearest shelf. Bags of blood tore and shredded, coating her attacker with the vital fluid.

For the first time, she stared into the face of her enemy, a crimson mask of hellish hate. She could see straight through the gaping hole still in its chest. It lunged forward, bloody talons extended.

She raised her hand. "Burn."

The vampire was instantly enveloped in a plume of purifying flame. Within moments, all that seemed to remain of her foe was a charred stain on the wall.

The fire suppression system activated. She fell to her knees as the gentle staccato of falling droplets danced upon her metal skin.

*

"How much longer will this take?" Coldstone winced as a spark flew past his face.

"It would take less time if you just stayed still." Lexington looked up, soldering iron in hand and a pair of welding googles strapped to his face. "You know, most people who lose an arm wouldn't be so surly about getting it reattached."

Coldstone saw Coldfire's hand on his undamaged shoulder. He sighed, "I apologize, Lexington. It has been a… trying week."

"Hey, don't worry about it," Lexington said sheepishly as he put away the iron. "That should hold 'til sunset but I don't want you leaving the lab or moving around too much until I give you a proper work-over."

"I must take my leave as well, my love," His mate spoke. "Sunrise approaches and I must watch over our clan. Owen has offered to see to your needs during the day."

Coldtone glared at the blond, bespectacled human standing impassively by the doorway. "I was safer with the vampire."

*

Elisa watched Goliath take his perch as the grey light of dawn slowly stalked over the horizon. "Matt and the guy were down at  _Sacrilege_ , giving it the once over after our little party last night?"

"And?" he intoned.

She shook her head. "Nothing, no sign of hidden passages, Homunculi staff or 'D. Ville'."

Goliath's brow-ridges furrowed. "You do not believe Coldfire slew the beast?"

"Do you?" she asked.

He said nothing for a few moments. "What of Dr. Harker?"

Elisa shrugged "Haven't been able to get through to her since we left her at  _Sacrilege_. I don't understand why she didn't try to follow us back to the castle."

Goliath looked out on the Manhattan skyline. "I fear these questions must wait. Until sunset, Elisa," the gargoyle's wings flared as the dawn washed over him, freezing him in stone sleep.

Elisa pecked his stone form on the cheek. "Sleep tight."

Coldfire stepped out onto the tower, leaning on one of the battlements as she watched the sun begin its journey.

"Hey," Elisa said.

"Hey," Coldfire responded.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Elisa asked.

"No, not yet," Coldfire turned towards the detective. "But I would appreciate the company."

"Hey, what are sisters for?" Elisa smiled.

*

_November 1st_

_Detective Maza,_

_I beg your forgiveness for being unable to stand with you and your friends in your hour of need. I wish I could explain my reasons to you. All I can say is that you went where I could not follow._

_Enclosed within this envelope is a second page containing a ritual to revoke "unwanted" invitations. I know none of your friends are experts in such things but Pog assures me it is a relatively simple procedure._

_Farewell, Detective. I pray for your sake we never have cause to meet again._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Wilhelmina Harker._

Harker sealed the envelope as the waiter of the local Nightstone's brought her a coffee. Once he was gone, she quietly tipped half the beverage into an adjacent potted plant.

"Harker."

She looked up into the face of an elderly woman with three slash like scars over her left eye. "Canmore," she responded icily. "Eighteen."

"Seventeen," the Scotswoman took seat. "Don't ye ever get tired o' that?" She gestured at the cup.

"American coffee?" Harker inquired.

"Pretending yuir still human."

_Fangs sink into the sanctimonious crone's throat, draining dry what little life still flows in her veins._

Wilhelmina Harker closed her eyes and took a slow deep breath. She wrested the beast back into the cage in the depths of her mind. She'd done so again and again for most of this century. So why did it keep getting harder?

"Is there a point to this, Canmore?" Harker tapped her Styrofoam cup irritably. She needed to get out of here, away from the living.

Fiona placed a plain vanilla envelope on the table. "Just after sunrise, a private yacht lifted anchor and sailed out o' Hudson Bay inta the wide Atlantic, the  _S.S. Persephone_."

"He always did like to have his little jokes," Harker pretended to sip her coffee. "Most likely he's heading back to Europe to lick his wounds."

"And yuir goin' after him," Fiona Canmore got up to leave. "Oh and Harker, remember Duval wants Tepes alive. Well… at least as alive as you are."

"What about the girl he turned?" Harker asked.

Canmore just smiled.

*

_**Izanami-no-Mikoto** _ **, refitted oil tanker owned by Xanatos Enterprises, anchored five miles off the East Coast,** **November 5th**

LaVonne sat alone in the blank white room. Blinding light seared every square inch of its near empty interior. In the corner, a rectangular depression held a thin layer of Manhattan grave earth.

From the  _Izanami's_  security room, David Xanatos studied his latest "acquisition". He admired her resilience. Already her undead flesh begun to regrow over her charred bones. Though he suspected the UV light constantly flooding the room inhibited the process somewhat.

Anton Sevarius' had conceived the 'Sun Room' as a potential means of inducing gargate's stone sleep using a combination of artificial sunlight and electro-magnetic manipulation. Renovating it for its current "guest" had taken had proven a simple enough project.

As for Ms. LaVonne's "dietary requirements", the monthly company sponsored blood drive would cover that easily enough.

"Told you it would work," a feminine voice purred from behind him.

David turned to see Fox standing in the door frame, a scarlet neckerchief tied jauntily around her throat.

"As I recall, my dear, your original plan was to capture Dracula himself?" he quipped.

"Details, David," she curled into his lap. "One vampire is just as good as another for our purposes. I'm sure Anton can't wait to meet our new friend."

"Is that a note of vindictiveness I hear?" he asked.

Fox's eyes narrowed. "After threatening my son? Anton can dissect her without anesthetics for all I care. So, does our new science project have anything to say?"

"Listen for yourself." David rose the gain on the 'Sun Room's' internal mic.

The words came soft and low through the speaker at first, barely more than a mumble which slowly grew into a chant, repeated like some mad mantra…

"Someday my prince will come

Someday we'll meet again

And away to his castle we'll go

To be happy forever I know"

_**Never the End…** _


End file.
